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Has ii come, the time to fade? And with a munnur'd sigh.


The Maple, in his acDrlet robe, Was the fim make reply j And the queenly Dahliaa droop'd Upon their thrones uf state, The frost-king, with his haleful kin, Had well foreslaird their fate. Hydrangia, on her telegraph A hurried signal traced Of dire and dark conspiracy, Thai Summer's realm menaced; Then quick the proud exotic peers In consternation fled, And refuge in their green-house sought Before the day of dread.

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Brightest one and dearest? Other groTes among, Other nests thou cheeresi ; Sweet thy warbling skill To each ear that heard thee, But 'twas sweetest still To the heart that rear'd thee. Lamb, where dost Ihon rest? On stranger-bosoms lying? Seek thy Saviooi'a fiock, To hia blest fold going. Seek that smitten rock Whence our peace is flowing; Still should Love rejoice, Whatsoe'er betide thee, If that Shepherd's voice Evermore might guide thee. Rise from the dells where ye first were born. Shrink not, for Hia finger your heads halh bow'd, ; lowly, and humbles the proud.

And the young pendent vine-dower kiss'd my cheek. There were glad voices too. The dexterous spider threw From spray to spray the silver-tissued snare. The thrifty ant, whose curving pincers pierced The rifled grain, toiled toward her citadel. To her sweet hive went forth the loaded bee, While, from her wind-rocked nest, the mother-bird Sang to her nurslings.

Tlie simple flowers and streams Are social ond benevolent, and he Who holdeth cnnverse in their language pure, Roaming among them at the cool of day. Shall find, like him who Eden's garden drest.

His Maker there, to teach his listening heart. As you were riding by? And did you thank your God That you, and yours, were not condenin'i: TliuB like a slave lo plod? Come, see him at hia harvesl-home. When gorflen, field, and tree.

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A Timeline of Poetry in English

Conspire with flowing stores to fill His barn and granary. Hia healthful children gaily sport Amid the new -mown hay, Or proudly aid, with vigorous arm, His task, as best they may. It Btood among the chestnuts, ita while apire And Blender turrets pointing where man's bewt Should oflener turn. Up went the wooded cMA, Abruptly beautiful, above its head, Shutting with rerdant screen the waten out, That juet beyond in deep sequesterM vale Wrought out their rocky passage.

Clustering roob And varying sounds of village indmuy SwellM from its margin, while the busy loom, Replete with radiant fabrics, told the skill or the prompt artisan. But all around The solitary dell, where meekly roae That consecrated church, there was no voice Save what still Nature in her worahip breathes, And that unspoken lore with which the dead Do commune with the living. There they lay. And methouglit How sweet it were, so near the sacred house Where we bad heard of Christ, and taken his yoke, And Sabbalb after Sabbath gathered strength To do his will, thus to lie down and rest.

From toil, from cumbrance, and from strife to flee, And drink ihe waters of elemal life : Still in sweet fellowship with trees and slues, Friend both of earth and heaven, devoutly stand To guide the living and to guard the dead. Think'st Ihou to be conceai'd, thou little stream.

She Wields a Pen

That through the lonely vale dost wend thy way, Loving beneath the darkest arch to glide Of woven branches, blenl with hillocks gray? The mist doth track thee, and reveal thy course Unto the dawn, and a bright line of green Tinting thy marge, and the white flocks that haste At summer noon to taste thy crystal sheen, Make plain thy wanderings to the eye of day. Thint'st ihou to be concealM, thou little thought. That in the curtain'd chamber of the aonl Dost wrap thyself so close, and dream to do A secret work?

She Wields a Pen | University of Iowa Press

Look to the hues that roll O'er the changed brow — the moving lips behold — Linking thee unto speech — the feet that run Upon thy errands, and the deeds that stamp Thy lineage plain before the noonday sun ; Look to the pen that writes thy history down In those tremendous books that ne'er unclose Until the day of doom, atid blush to see How vain thy trust in darkness to repose. Where all things tend to judgment. So, beware, Oh! Who asks if I remember thee? Doth the wild, lonely flower that sprang within some rocky dell Forget the first awakening smile that on its bosom fell?

Did Israel's exiled sons, when far from Zinn's hill away. Forget the high and holy house, where first tliey learn'd to pray? Forget around their Temple's wreck to roam in mute despair. And o'er its hallow'd ashes pour a grief that none might share? Remember ihee? Remember thee?

Yel ori loili twilighl'i musing hour thy graceful fonn restore. Anil morning breathe the muaic-tone, like Memnon'a harp of The simple rap that deck'd thy brow is still to MemoTy Her echoes keep thy cheriHh'd song that lull'il my infant ear; The book, from which my lisping tongue h'qs by thy kind- ness taught.

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Gleams forili, with uU its letler'd lines, still fresh niih hues of though L The fiowera, the dear, familiar flowers, thai in thy garden grew, From whicli thy mantel-vase was filPd — melhinks, ihey breathe Again, the wliispering lily bends, and ope those lips of rose, As if some message of thy love, hey linger'd to disclose. With what a smile of gladnesa meek Thy radiant brow is dreat, While fondly to a mother's cheek Thy lip and hand are prest! That little hand! The artist's pencil shall it guide i Or spread the adventurous soil?

Started in 1936 in Virginia

Or guide the plough with rustic pride, And ply the sounding flail? Old Coke's or Blackstone's mighty tome With patient toil turn o'er? Or trim the lamp in classic dome, Till midnight's watch be o'er? Well skilled, the pulse of sickness press i Or such high honour gain As, o'er the pulpit raised, to bless A pioDS listening tisin? Savi eIibU it find the cheriah'd grasp Of friendship's fervour cold? Or, shuddering, feel ttie enveiioni'd clasp Of treachery's gerpent-fold? Yet, oh. Gram it lo dry the ear of woe, Bold folly's courae resltain. The olins of sympathy bestow. Doth Death thy boanm's cell invade?

Yield up ihy flower of grass t Swells the worid'a wrathful billow high? Bow down, and let it paas. Press not thy purpose on thy Qod, Urge not thine erring will, Not dictate to the Eternal mind, Nor doubt thy Alaker's sIcilL True prayer ia not the noisy sound That clamorous lips repeat, But the deep tiknce of a soul That clasps Jehovah's feet. Go to thy rest, my child! Go to thy dreamless bed, Gentle and undefiled, With blessingH on thy head ; Fresh roses in thy hand, Buds on thy pillow laid.

Women poets Mushaira I Jashn-e-Rekhta 2017

Haste from this fearful land, Where flowers so quickly fade. Before ihy heart might team In waywardness to stray, Before thy foot could turn The dark and downward way; Ere sin might wound the breast. Or sorrow wake the tear, Rise to Ihy home of rest, In yon celestial sphere. Because thy amile was fair, Thy lip and ej'e so bright. Because thy cra lle-cB. Shall Lovp, wilh weak embrace.

Thy heavenward light dciaio? Angel, seek ihy place Amid yon cherub-irain.